Whole Lotta Love
by FascistChairLover
Summary: Why was he doing this again? Because he had to. There wasn't any other choice. Never had been.
1. Ten Years Gone

Ten Years Gone

"Then as it was, then again it will be,  
An' though the course may change sometimes,  
Rivers always reach the sea."

Cool gusts of night air, glittering with stars and light poles brush against Dean's skin. His breaths slow to match the pulses in the air, vibrating in his ears. The constant crashing of waves soothes him. It's hard to take his mind off of the twisting, spinning thoughts, but they do a decent job.  
Asphalt stretches on forever, flowing with the tired stints of grass and shrubs that dot the landscape. It curves to the left and the right, never ending, sparkling lights following and guiding the Impala on its journey.

Why was he doing this again?

Because he had to. There wasn't any other choice. Never had been

Swirling colors bloom, screaming in slashes of light. Noise tries to reach out and grasp at the frayed edges of consciousness but they keep fading to smoke before they can take hold. Waves push and pull, stretching his soul to the point of splitting, tearing, breaking.

"Dean!"

"Jesus! Sam!" Horns blare from behind him and to his left, his feet hitting the gas and break at the same time as his hands jerk along the steering wheel. His body and arms spasm to the left and right before straightening out the car.

Dean slows down and drives off of the main road, stopping thirty feet into a dirt road. He catches his breath before he replies. "Jesus, Cas! What do you think you are doing?" Breaths still come out hard and fast, his adrenaline pumping with no proper outlet.

Castiel stares at him and murmurs, "You were about to crash. You wouldn't be useful to anyone in a heap of twisted, burning metal."

Dean paused, point, but still, he's pissed. "Maybe you could be a little more careful next time. You almost caused a freakin' accident." An outlet was nice, despite how little of this was Cas' fault.

Castiel leans closer, breaking that personal space rule Dean thought he had down, "Falling asleep at the wheel and dreaming about Sam isn't doing anyone any good-"  
"Shut the Hell up." Dean pushed himself back against the door, trying to put as much space between him and Cas as possible. Sometimes he forgot that Cas knew him inside and out. Castiel just blinked at him and obeyed his wishes, leaning back over to his side of the bench seat.

Running a hand through his hair, Dean took a deep breath and leaned back. He did need some sleep. He wasn't used to having to stop so often to get some rest. Not that he often let others touch his baby, but there had always been that option before. He missed having that. He missed being able to stop driving, eat some apple pie while still making good time and then taking a little nap. He missed…

He missed Sam.

"Dean, you are justified in what you had to-"  
"Cas," Dean cut in, not wanting to hear it. Any of it. "Just go, okay?" He sniffed and glanced at Cas, seeing the concern written there. "Don't worry, I'll crash before I drive again."  
Castiel raised his eyebrows at that terminology but he was gone before Dean could explain.

Laying his head in his hands, he murmured. "Jesus, Cas. Sleep, man, I will sleep, okay?."

"Changes fill my time, baby, that's alright with me  
In the midst I think of you, and how it used to be."


	2. Since I've Been Loving You

"Working from seven to eleven every night,

It really makes life a drag, I don't think that's right.  
I've really, really been the best of fools, I did what I could."

The air was cool on his bare legs as he tapped his foot along. Burning rays of sunshine beat down on the entire Godforsaken town but the wind was strong enough to create fresh air circulating through the motel and keep it somewhat cool.

It was Saturday. Not a "We need to canvas" Saturday or "I need a watch for the hunt" Saturday or "Training" Saturday or even a "Watch Sammy, Help Sammy, Guard Sammy" Saturday. It was just a Saturday.

Dean smiled and crossed his feet, sighing deeply. It felt nice. Most kids yammered on in school about how great Saturday morning cartoons were and cereal and playing the yard but Dean just wanted to lie there. He was still sore from the last hunt. Not even helping in killing the bastards and he got injured on the job. And that's why he gets this Saturday.

There's a pang of guilt at that thought but Dean tosses it aside before it can take root.

A screen door slams shut and Sammy storms past, knocking over the radio and turning it off somehow, possibly breaking it.

"What the Hell, Sam?" Dean calls out. His only answer is another door slamming as Sam retreats to their room.

Then his dad comes. Dean hops to his feet. "Sam! Come back here! This is for your own good." After looking around, John drops his gaze to Dean. "Where is Sam?"

"He's in our room, Sir." Dean responds immediately and flinches. Sam probably doesn't want to be found right now, probably doesn't want to talk. He can almost feel the betrayal in his heart, as if he were the one being screwed over.

His dad tries to step around him to go get Sam and without thinking, Dean steps in his way. John's eyes narrow and he stares coolly at Dean.

"I'll go talk to him, Sir-Dad." Dean stammers. "Don't worry about it. I'll talk some sense into him." There's something critical about his father's gaze as he looks Dean up and down that makes Dean want to crawl out of his own skin. Finally, he nodded and Dean let out a breath of relief. Without another word, John turned around and walked back outside. He was probably working on the car or oiling the guns or something.

Rolling his neck, Dean slowly stepped over to his and Sam's shared door, listening carefully. As soon as he heard it, he pushed the door open and dropped to Sam's side.

"Don't cry, Sammy. It's going to be okay. Please, don't cry." He couldn't tell if Sam's wails grew louder or started to wane. Fire swam before his eyes, smoke, pain, "Take your brother!"

Dean blinked and couldn't hear anything. Sam was quiet and Dean had his arms wrapped around him. That usually helped him stop crying.

He didn't know for sure what went on between Sam and their dad but he could guess. "Show me," he murmured into Sam's thick hair. At first, all he got was a soft but persistent shaking head, but Sam relented after the third or fourth insistence and proffered up his forearm, a long, angry red streak gleaming across it. Dean let out a whistle and carefully held Sam's arm.

"Well, you need to get some alcohol on this and then sew it up." He made to get up and tugged at Sam but Sam's thin frame refused to budge. Dean was starting to understand his father's frustration. A little bit. "Come on, Sammy. We have to get that cleaned up or it will get worse."

Sam looked up at that, but it didn't make things much easier. His soft, puffy red cheeks, streaked with tears, didn't make things easy for Dean. "Will you do it?"

Dean didn't hesitate. "Of course I will." He started to tug Sam into the bathroom and only once they were seated did Dean realize what that meant. His dad had wanted Sam to do it himself. Probably not the needle work, but the alcohol and cleaning the wound. He couldn't, though. Sam was just a baby. Dean only started when he was…. Dean let his eyes drop. Well, he started when he was five, just after mom had died. 'If you're dumb enough to get hurt, you better be smart enough to fix it,' his dad had always said.

Sam kept flinching and pulling away as Dean automatically cleaned out the wound. Finally, he snapped. "Jesus, just stop, Sam. I need to clean this!" He could see and feel Sam startle and shake at him yelling. Then that bottom lip was moving out slowly. .That damned bottom lip. Dean sighed and hung his head. He was hopeless.

"Sammy, I'm sorry." He tried to soothe Sam, rubbing his arm on the uninjured side and using his low "I don't want to beat the snot out of you" voice. "It's going to be okay, Sammy. I won't hurt you." Dean bit his lip at that. "That much. I'll be as nice as I can."

Only after Sam visibly relaxed did Dean start again, taking care to slowly splash away the dirt and grime, being much more cautious than their dad would have wanted. But this was Sammy. Once Dean was done and reached for the rubbing alcohol, Sam totally closed off. It burned like a bitch, yeah, he knew, but it was necessary.

"Come on, Sammy. Please. We need to do." Dean tried everything he could think of, from begging to bribing to minor threatening. Nothing would make Sam loosen up and let go of his arm. He was tempted to just dump the whole bottle on him and let it burn where it needed to. But he couldn't. This was Sam.

Dean ran a hand through his short hair and looked around. "Don't tell dad, okay?" He whispered to Sam. There was no way Sam would ever rat Dean out but he still felt the need to confirm this. Their dad would be pissed if he knew Dean went around shoplifting "useless shit" as he would call it.

After fishing through his bag, Dean pulled out a small tube of Neosporin and squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers. Three times what he would use on a small cut like Sam's if it were himself. But this was Sam. His Sammy.

Sam flinched when Dean brought his fingers closer. "This won't hurt." He could see the disbelief in his eyes. "I promise." Not waiting to give Sam a chance to reconsider, Dean starts to rub it in slowly. He can hear Sam let out a breath when he realizes that Dean wasn't lying. "You gotta trust me, Sammy." Dean said, almost as an afterthought.

The wound wasn't too deep. If he bandaged it really tight and didn't tell their dad, it would heal just fine. He looked up at Sam. "We're brothers. We are all we have in this world. I can only trust you and you can only trust me. You gonna trust me, Sammy?" His dad had drilled that in. Sam was everything. Watch Sammy, guide Sammy, protect Sammy. He didn't mind so much.

Sam nodded and really spoke for the first time. "Will you…." He hesitated and bit his lip. Dean could only silently urge him on, chanting 'trust me, Sammy.' Sam swallowed and looked at his arm. "Will you kiss it better?"

Dean dropped Sam's arm in shock. Ew! That's gross. That's what babies do! That is just stupid kid stuff. His brain couldn't stop reeling in shock. Then his eyes met Sam's and he saw what Sam couldn't say. That's what mom's did. That's what family did.

He grabbed Sam's arm and brought it to eye level, watching Sam. He was all that Sam had. Dad needed to focus on hunting. Dean needed to be whatever Sam needed. He could do this. Even if it was gross kid stuff.

He kissed soft, puckered pink skin and blew it on it, only to look up and see Sam smile brighter than he had seen in a while.

Yeah, that was worth it.

"Since I've Been Loving You, I'm about to lose my worried mind.

Said I've been crying, my tears they fell like rain,

Don't you hear, Don't you hear them falling,"


End file.
